A Chocolate Walk of Shame

Well it started off innocently enough, at least that is what I told myself.

Be organized, beat the rush, gather your goodies now blah blah blah.  

In essence, this is what really happened.

It was a glorious Wednesday afternoon, and I, in all my glory, sauntered down on my lunch hour to the town's chocolatier to gather up what would be some yummy delectable goodies for my better half and my mother.  I roamed around the shelves for what seemed like an eternity picking this treat and that treat and this goody and that goody and then dropped a substantial amount of money on the custom made treats for my beloved and my amazing mother.

I told myself that with Valentine's day less than a week away, that it would be best if I hid the chocolate at my office in order to avoid the prying and overly attentive eyes of that man that I call my better half.  Like the nose of a bloodhound, I could foresee my Valentine's Surprise going sideways if those gooey delish items were somehow hidden at home, as in all likelihood they would be snuffed out instantly with that ancestral Lebanese nose that my better half sports upon his handsome face.

This was, as it turns out, my biggest mistake.

By Thursday at lunch, those glorious chocolate were calling my name, beckoning me with their sweetness, taunting me with their rich flavour and I thought to myself (or perhaps justified to myself) that I had bought so much, how could one simple chocolate be missed.  I would soon use that excuse again an hour later, and again, a half hour later.  

By Friday, the first signs of my impending doom would be fully noticeable upon my chin where a now volcano sized eruption had appear.  You would think, or better yet you would hope, that the zit upon my face would have deterred me from ravishing the remaining chocolates, but no, sadly no, I would reach for another chocolate the moment I walked into the office come Friday morning, and again by mid morning. And by lunch time, the evidence of my devouring nature was circled around my lips like a glorious halo of oooey gooey velvety brown goodness.

It was obvious to myself and the multitude of empty wrappers by Friday afternoon, that I would have to somehow muster up my courage and open up my wallet to replace what I had so willingly sucked back in a mere few days.

By the time I returned to the office, I felt safe in the notion that the chocolate would be locked up and away from me for two solid days.  A sufficient enough time frame for me to forget those teasers, to get on with my life, and to devour apples in the same glorious way that I sucked the filling out of those damn chocolate filled treats.  But alas, I was tormented.  Tormented I say.  Tormented for two full days, dreaming and craving and dreaming and craving those stinking zit making gloriously filled treat temptations.

By Monday morning, I was nearly running up the stairs and drooling at the corners of my mouth as I burst thru my office doors like a crazy woman shedding her clothing off during a menopausal hot flash.  "Come to momma!!!!" the words popped out of my mouth!  And with no will power whatsoever, I downed every last piece within an one hour sitting.

As I sat there moaning and groaning partly over my stupidity, partly over my gluttony, and mostly over my serious lack of self control, it dawned on me, Valentines was the next day and I had eaten the gifts of love for the ones that I loved.

And as lunch hour approached, I grabbed my wallet, and with what little self respect I had, waddled my way down once again to the chocolatier.  And with a look of disgust upon the sales clerk's face (or just my guilty conscious taking over), I picked out the replacement items, and then did what every respectable woman does, I held my head high, handed over my money, grabbed not one but two pieces of free chocolate from the tray at the cash register, gave the clerk a wink and did the Chocolate walk of shame right out of her store.

Until Next Time.

Tracy